The Scottish Chiefs

Chapter LXIV - Forest of Vincennes

Avoiding the frequented track to Paris, Wallace (to whom
Grimsby was now a valuable auxiliary, he being well acquainted with the country)
took a sequestered path by the banks of the Marne, and entered the Forest of
Vincennes just as the moon set. Having ridden far, and without cessation, the
old soldier proposed their alighting, to allow the lady an opportunity of
reposing awhile under the trees. Helen was indeed nearly exhausted, though the
idea of her happy flight, by inspiring her with a strength which surprised even
herself, for a long time had kept her insensible to fatigue. While her friends
pressed on with a speed which allowed no more conversation than occasional
inquiries of how she bore the journey, the swiftness of the motion and the
rapidity of the events which had brought her from the most frightful of
situations into one the dearest to her secret and hardly-breathed wishes, so
bewildered her faculties, that hse almost feared she was only enjoying one of
those dreams which since her captivity had often mocked her with the image of
Wallace and her release; and every moment she dreaded to awake and find herself
still a prisoner to De Valence. "I want no rest," replied she to the observation
of Grimsby; "I could feel none till we are beyond the possibility of being
overtaken by my enemy."

"You are as safe in this wood, lady," returned the soldier,
"as you can be in any place betwixt Galliard and Paris. It is many miles from
the chateau, and lies in so remote a direction, that were the earl to pursue us,
I am sure he would never choose this path."

"And did he even come up with us, dear Lady Helen," said
Wallace, "could you fear, when with your father's friend?"

"It is for my father's friend I fear," gently answered she;
"I can have no dread for myself while under such protection."

A very little more persuaded Helen; and Grimsby having
spread his cloak on the grass, Wallace lifted her from her horse. As soon as she
put her foot to the ground her head grew giddy, and she must have fallen but for
the supporting arm of her watchful friend. He carried her to the couch prepared
by the good soldier, and laid her on it. Grimsby had been more provident than
they could have expected; for after saddling the second pair of horses, he had
returned into the hall for his cloak, and taking an undrawn flask of wine from
the seneschal's supper-table, put it into his vest. This he now produced, and
Wallace made Helen drink some of it. The cordial soon revived her, and sinking
on her pillow of leaves, she soon found the repose her wearied frame demanded
and induced. For fear of disturbing her not a word was spoken. Wallace watched
at her head, and Bruce sat at her feet, while Grimsby remained with the horses,
as a kind of outpost.

Sweet was her sleep, for the thoughts with which she sunk
into slumber occupied her dreams. Still she was riding by the side of Wallace,
listening to his voice, cheering her through the lengthening way! But some wild
animal in its nightly prowl crossing before the horses, they began to snort and
plunge, and though the no less terrified alarmer fled far away, it was with
difficulty the voice and management of Grimsby could quiet them. The noise
suddenly awoke Helen, and her scattered faculties not immediately recollecting
themselves, she felt an instant impression that all had indeed been a dream, and
starting in affright, she exclaimed, "Where am I? Wallace, where art thou?"

"Here!" cried he, pressing her hand with fraternal
tenderness; "I am here; you are safe with your friend and brother."

Her heart beat with a terror which this assurance could
hardly subdue. At last she said in an agitated voice, "Forgive me if my senses
are a little strayed! I have suffered so much, and this release seems so
miraculous, that at moments I hardly believe it real. I wish daylight were come
that I might be convinced." When she had uttered these words, she suddenly
stopped, and then added, "But I am very weak to talk thus; I believe my late
terrors have disordered my head."

"What you feel, lady, is only natural," observed Bruce; "I
experienced the same when I first regained my liberty, and found myself on the
road to join Sir William Wallace. Dear, indeed, is liberty; but dearer is the
friend whose virtues make our recovered freedom sure."

"Who speaks to me?" said Helen, in a low voice to Wallace,
and raising her head from that now supporting arm, on which she felt she did but
too much delight to lean.

"One," answered Wallace, in the same tone, "who is not to
be publicly known until occasion demands it; one who, I trust in God, will one
day seal the happiness of Scotland--Robert Bruce."

That name which, when in her idea it belonged to Wallace,
used to raise such emotions in her breast, she now heard with an indifference
that surprised her. But who could be more to Scotland than Wallace had been? All
that was in the power of patriot or of king to do for his country, he had done;
and what then was Bruce in her estimation? One who, basking in pleasures while
his country suffered, allowed a brave subject to breast, to overthrow every
danger, before he put himself forward? and now he appeared to assume a throne,
which, though his right by birth, he had most justly forfeited, by neglecting
the duties indispensable in the heir of so great and oppressed a kingdom! These
would have been her thoughts of him; but Wallace called this Bruce his friend!
and the few words she had heard him speak, being full of gratitude to her
deliverer, that engaged her esteem.

The answer, however, which she made to the reply of Wallace
was spontaneous, and it struck upon the heart of Bruce. "How long," said she,
"have you promised Scotland that it should see that day!"

"Long, to my grief, Lady Helen," rejoined Bruce; "I would
say to my shame--had I ever intentionally erred toward my country; but ignorance
of her state, and of the depth of Edward's treachery, was my crime. I only
required to be shown the right path to pursue it, and Sir William Wallace came
to point the way. My soul, lady, is not unworthy the destiny to which he calls
me." Had there been light, she would have seen the flush of conscious virtue
that overspread his fine countenance while he spoke; but the words were
sufficient to impress her with that respect he deserved, and which her answer
showed.

"My father taught me to consider the Bruce the rightful
heirs of Scotland; and now that I see the day which he so often wished to hail,
I cannot but regard it as the termination of Scotland's woes. Oh! had it been
before! perhaps--" Here she paused, for tears stopped her utterance.

"You think," rejoined Bruce, "that much bloodshed might
have been spared! But, dear lady, poison not the comfort of your life by that
belief. No man exists who could have effected so much for Scotland in so short a
time, and with so little loss, as our Wallace has done. Who, like him, makes
mercy the companion of war, and compels even his enemies to emulate the clemency
he shows? Fewer have been slain on the Scottish side during the whole of his
struggle with Edward, than were lost by Baliol on the fatal day of Dunbar. Then,
no quarter was given; and too many of the wounded were left to perish on the
field. But with Wallace, life was granted to all who asked; the wounded enemy
and the friend were alike succored by him. This conduct provoked the jealousy of
the Southron generals, not to be surpassed in generosity, and thus comparatively
few have been lost. But if in that number some of our noblest chiefs, we must be
resigned to yield to God what is his own; may, we must be grateful, daughter of
the gallant Mar, for the manner in which they were taken. They fell in the arms
of true glory, like parents defending their offspring; while others--my
grandfather and father--perished with broken hearts, in unavailing lamentations
that they could not share the fate of those who died for Scotland."

"But you, dear Bruce," returned Wallace, "will live for
her; will teach those whose hearts have bled in her cause, to find a balm for
every wound in her prosperity."

Helen smiled through her tears at those words. They spoke
the heavenly consolation which had descended on her mourning spirit. "If
Scotland be to rest under the happy reign of Robert Bruce, then envy cannot
again assail Sir William Wallace, and my father has not shed his blood in vain.
His beautified spirit, with those of my uncles Bothwell and Ruthven, will
rejoice in such a peace, and I shall enjoy it to felicity, in so sacred a
participation. Surprised at her associating the name of Lord Ruthven with those
who had fallen, Wallace interrupted her with the assurance of her uncle's
safety. The Scottish chiefs easily understood that De Valence had given her the
opposite intelligence, to impress her with an idea that she was friendless, and
so precipitate her into the determination of becoming his wife. But she did not
repeat to her brave auditors all the arguments he had used to shake her
impregnable heart--impregnable, because a principle kept guard there, which
neither flattery nor ambition could dispossess. He had told her that the very
day in which she would give him her hand, King Edward would send him viceroy
into Scotland, where she should reign with all the power and magnificence of a
queen. He was handsome, accomplished, and adored her; but Helen could not love
him whom she could not esteem, for she knew he was libertine, base and cruel.
That he loved her affected her not; she could only be sensible to an affection
placed on worthy foundations; and he who trampled on all virtues in his own
actions, could not desire them when seen in her; he therefore must love her for
the fairness of her form alone; and to place any value on such affection was to
grasp the wind.

Personal flatteries having made no impression on Helen,
ambitious projects were attempted with equal failure. Had De Valence been lord
of the eastern and western empires, could he have made her the envy and
admiration of a congregated world, all would have been in vain; she had seen and
known the virtues of Sir William Wallace; and from that hour, all that was
excellent in man, and all that was desirable on earth, seemed to her to be in
him summed up. "On the barren heath," said she to herself, "in some desert
island, with only thee and thy virtues, how happy could be Helen Mar! how great!
For, to share thy heart--thy thy noble, glorious heart--would be a bliss, a seal
of honor from Heaven, with which no terrestrial elevation could compare!" Then
would she sigh; capable of appreciating and loving above all earthly things the
matchless virtues of Sir William Wallace. On the very evening of the night in
question in which he had so unexpectedly appeared to release her, her thoughts
had been engaged in this train: "Yes," cried she to herself, "even in loving thy
perfections there is such enjoyment, that I would rather be as I am--what others
might call the hopeless Helen, than the loving and beloved of any other man on
earth. In thee I love virtue; and the imperishable sentiment will bless me in
the world to come." With these thoughts she had fallen asleep; she dreamed that
she called on her father, on Wallace to save her, and on opening her eyes, she
had found him indeed near.

Every word which this almost adored friend now said to
comfort her with regard to her own immediate losses, to assure her of the peace
of Scotland, should Heaven bless the return of Bruce, took root in her soul, and
sprung up into resignation and happiness. She listened to the plans of Wallace
and of Bruce to effect their great enterprise, and the hours of the night passed
to her not only in repose, but in enjoyment. Wallace, though pleased with the
interest she took in even the minutest details of their design, became fearful
of overtasking her weakened frame; he whispered Bruce to gradually drop the
conversation; and, as it died away, slumber again stole over her eyelids.

The dawn had spread far over the sky while she yet slept.
Wallace sat contemplating her, and the now sleeping Bruce, who had also
imperceptibly sunk to rest. Various and anxious were his meditations. He had
hardly seen seven-and-twenty years, yet so had he been tried in the vicissitudes
of life, that he felt as if he had lived a century; and instead of looking on
the lovely Helen as on one whose charms might claim a lover's lovely Helen as on
one whose charms might claim a lover's wishes in his breast, he regarded her
with sentiments more like parental tenderness. That, indeed, seemed the
affection which now reigned in his bosom. He felt as a father toward Scotland.
For every son and daughter of that harassed country, he was ready to lay down
his life. Edwin he cherished in his heart as he would have done the dearest of
his own offspring. It was as a parent to whom a beloved and prodigal son had
returned, that he looked on Bruce. But Helen, of all Scotland's daughters, she
was the most precious in his eyes; set love aside, and no object without the
touch of that all-pervading passion could he regard with more endearing
tenderness than he did Helen Mar.

The shades of night vanished before the bright uprise of
the king of day, and with them her slumbers. She stirred; she awoke. The lark
was then soaring with shrill cadence over her head; its notes pierced the ear of
Bruce, and he started on his feet.

"You have allowed me to sleep, Wallace?"

"And why not?" replied he. "Here it was safe for all to
have slept. Yet had there been danger, I was at my post to have called you." He
gently smiled as he spoke.

"Whence, my friend," cried Bruce, with a respondent beam on
his countenance, "did you draw the ethereal essence that animates your frame?
You toil for us--watch for us, and yet you never seem fatigued, never
discomposed! How is this? What does it mean?"

"That the soul is immortal," answered Wallace; "that it has
a godlike power given to it by the Giver of all good, even while on earth, to
subdue the wants of this mortal frame. The circumstances in which Heaven has
cast me, have disciplined my circumstances in which Heaven has cast me, have
disciplined my body to obey my mind in all things; and, therefore, when the
motives for exertion are strong within me, it is long, very long, before I feel
hunger, thirst, or drowsiness. Indeed, while thus occupied, I have often thought
it possible for the activity of the soul so to wear the body, that some day she
might find it suddenly fall away from about her spiritual substance, and leave
her unencumbered, without having felt the touch of death. And yet, that Elisha-like
change," continued Wallace, following up on his own thought, "could not be till
Heaven sees the appointed time. 'Man does not live by bread alone;' neither by
sleep, nor any species of refreshment. His Spirit alone, who created all things,
can give us a rest, while we keep the strictest vigils; His power can sustain
the wasting frame, even in a barren wilderness."

"True," replied Helen, looking timidly up: "but, because
Heaven is so gracious as sometimes to work miracles in our favor, surely we are
not authorized to neglect the natural means of obtaining the same end?"

"Certainly not," returned Wallace; "it is not for man to
tempt God at any time. Sufficient for us it is to abide by His all-wise
dispensations. When we are in circumstances that allow the usual means of life,
it is demanded of us to use them. But when we are brought into situations where
watching, fasting, and uncommon toils are not to be avoided, then it is an
essential part of our obedience to perform our duties to the end, without any
regard to the wants which may impede our way. It is in such an hour, when the
soul of man, resolved to obey, looks down on human nature and looks up to God,
that he receives both the manna and the ever-living waters of heaven. By this
faith and perseverance, the uplifted hands of Moses prevailed over Amalek in
Rephidim; and by the same did the lengthened race of the sun light Joshua to a
double victory in Gibeon."

The morning vapors having dispersed from the opposite
plain, and Helen being refreshed by her long repose, Wallace seated her on
horseback, and they recommenced their journey. The helmets of both chiefs were
now open. Grimsby looked at one and the other; the countenances of both assured
him that he should find a protector in either. He drew toward Helen; she noticed
his manner, and observing to Wallace that she believed the soldier wished to
speak with her, checked her horse. At this action, Grimsby presumed to ride up,
and bowing respectfully, said, that before he followed her to Paris, it would be
right for the Count de Valois to know whom he had taken into his train; "one,
madam, who has been degraded by King Edward; degraded," added he, "but not
debased; that last disgrace depends on myself; and I should shrink from your
protection rather than court it, were I indeed vile."

"You have too well proved your integrity, Grimsby," replied
Helen, "to doubt it now; but what has the Count de Valois to do with your being
under my protection? It is not to him we go, but to the French king."

"And is not that knight with the diadem," inquired Grimsby,
"the Count de Valois? The servants at Chateau Galliard told me he was so."

Surprised at this, Helen said the knight should answer for
himself; and quickening the step of her horse, followed by Grimsby, rejoined his
side.

When she informed Wallace of what had passed, he called the
soldier to approach. "Grimsby," said he, "you have claims upon me which should
insure you my protection were I even insensible to the honorable principles you
have just declared to Lady Helen. But, I repeat, I am already your friend. You
have only to speak, and all in my power to serve you shall be done."

"Then, sir," returned he, "as mine is rather a melancholy
story, and parts of it have already drawn tears from Lady Helen, if you will
honor me with your attention apart from her, I would relate how I fell into
disgrace with my sovereign."

Wallace fell a little back with Grimsby; and while Bruce
and Helen rode briskly forward, he, at a slower pace, prepared to listen to the
recapitulation of scenes in which he was only too deeply interested. The soldier
began by narrating the fatal events at Ellerslie, which had compelled him to
leave the army in Scotland. He related that after quitting the priory of St.
Fillan, he reached Guienne, and there served under the Earl of Lincoln, until
the marriage of Edward with King Philip's sister gave the English monarch quiet
possession of that province. Grimsby then marched with the rest of the troops to
join their sovereign in Flanders. There he was recognized, and brought to
judgment by one of Heselrigge's captains; one who had been a particular favorite
with the tyrant from their similarity of disposition, and to whom he had told
the mutiny and desertion (as he called it) of Grimsby. But on the presentation
of the Earl of Lincoln, his punishment was mitigated from death to the
infliction of a certain number of lashes. This sentence, which the honest
officer regarded as worse than the loss of life, was executed. On stripping him
at the halberts, Lady Helen's gift, the diamond clasp, was found hanging round
his neck; this was seized as a proof of some new crime; his general now gave him
up; and so inconsistent were his judges, that while they allowed this treason
(for so they stigmatized his manly resentment of Heselrigge's cruelty) to
prejudice them in this second charge, they would not believe what was so
probable, that this very jewel had been given to him by a friend of Sir William
Wallace in reward for his behavior on that occasion. He appealed to Edward, but
he appealed in vain; and on the following day he was adjudged to be broken on
the wheel for the supposed robbery.

Every heart was callous to his sufferings, but that of the
wife of his jailer; who, fancying him like a brother of hers, who had been
killed ten years before in Italy, at the dead of the night she opened his prison
doors. He fled into Normandy; and, without a home, outlawed, branded as a
traitor and a thief, he was wandering half-desperate one stormy night on the
banks of the Marne, when a cry of distress attracted his attention. It issued
from the suit of De Valence, on his way to Guienne. Scared at the tempest, the
female attendants of Lady Helen had abandoned themselves to shrieks of despair;
but she, insensible to anything but grief, lay in perfect stillness in the
litter that conveyed her. As Grimsby approached the travelers, De Valence
demanded his assistance to conduct them to a place of shelter. Chateau Galliard
was the nearest residence fit to receive the earl and his train. Thither the
soldier led them, and heard from the servants that the lady in the vehicle was
their lord's wife, and a lunatic. Grimsby remained in the chateau, because he
had nowhere else to go; and by accidental speeches from the lady's attendants
soon found that she was not married to the earl; and was not only perfectly
sane, but often most cruelly treated. Her name he had never learned until the
last evening, when, carrying some wine into the banqueting-room, he heard De
Valence mention it to the other stranger knight. He then retired full of horror,
resolving to essay her rescue himself; but the unexpected sight of the two
knights in the hall determined him to reveal the case to them. "This," added
Grimsby, "is my story; and whoever you are, noble lord, if you think me not
unworthy your protection, grant it, and you shall find me faithful unto death."

"I owe you that, and more," replied the chief; "I am that
Wallace on whose account you fled your country; and if you be willing to share
the fortunes of one who may live and die in camps, I pledge you that my best
destiny shall be yours." Could Grimsby in his joyful surprise have thrown
himself at the feet of Wallace, he would have done so; but taking hold of the
end of his scarf, he pressed it enthusiastically to his lips, and exclaimed:

"Bravest of the brave, this is beyond my prayers; to meet
here the triumphant lord of Scotland! I fell innocently into disgrace; ah! how
am I now exalted unto honor! My country would have deprived me of life; I am
therefore dead to it, and live only to gratitude and you!"

"Then," replied Wallace, "as the first proof of the
confidence I repose in you, know that the young chief who is riding forward with
Lady Helen is Robert Bruce, the Prince of Scotland. Our next enterprise is to
place him upon the throne of his ancestors. Meanwhile, till we license you to do
otherwise, keep our names a secret, and call us by those we may hereafter think
fit to assume."

Grimsby, once more reinstated in the station he
deserved--that of trust and respect--no longer hung his head in abject
despondency; but looking erect as one born again from disgrace, he became the
active, cheerful, and faithful servant of Wallace.

During Wallace's conversation with the soldier, Helen was
listening with delight to the encomiums which Bruce passed upon his friend and
champion. As his eloquent tongue described the merits of Wallace, and expressed
an ardent gratitude for his having so gloriously supplied his place to Scotland,
Helen turned her eyes upon the prince. Before she had scarcely remarked that he
was more than young and handsome; but now, while she contemplated the noble
confidence which breathed in every feature, she said to herself: "This man is
worthy to be the friend of Wallace! His soul is a mirror to reflect all the
brightness of Wallace's; ay, like as with the sun's rays, to kindle with
heaven's fire all on whom it turns."

Bruce remarked the unusual animation of her eyes as she
looked at him.

"You feel all I say of Wallace," said he. And it was not a
charge at which she need blush.

It was addressed to that perception of exalted worth which
regards neither sex nor age. Helen did not misapprehend him. The amiable
frankness of his manner seemed to open to him her heart. Wallace she adored
almost as a god; Bruce she could love as a brother. It requires not time nor
proof to make virtuous hearts coalesce; there is a language without sounds, a
recognition, independent of the visual organ, which acknowledges the kindred of
congenial souls almost in the moment they meet. "The virtuous mind knoweth its
brother in the dark!" This was said by the man whose soul sympathized in every
noble purpose with that of Wallace; while Helen, impelled by the same principle,
and blushing with an emotion untainted by any sensation of shame, replied:

"I am too grateful to Heaven for having allowed me to
witness the goodness, to share the esteem of such a being--a man whose like I
have never seen."

"He is one of the few, Lady Helen," replied Bruce, "who is
worthy of so august a title; and he brightly shows the image in which he was
made; so humble, so dignified, so great, so lowly; so super-eminent in all
accomplishments of mind and body; wise, brave, and invincible; yet forbearing,
gentle, and unassuming; formed to be beloved, yet without a touch of vanity;
loving all who approach him, without the least alloy of passion. Ah! Lady Helen,
he is a model after which I will fashion my life; for he has written the
character of the Son of God in his heart, and it shall be my study to transcribe
the blessed copy into mine!"

Tears of gratitude glittered in the eye, and on the smile
of Helen. To answer Bruce she found to be impossible, but that her smile and
look were appreciated by him, his own told her; and stretching out his hand to
her, as she put hers into his, he said:

"We are united in his heart, my sweet friend!"

At this moment Wallace joined them. He saw the action, and
the animation on each countenance, and looked at Bruce with a glance of inquiry;
but Bruce perceived nothing of a lover's jealousy in the look; it carried the
wish of a friend to share what had impressed them with such happy traits.

"We have been talking of you," returned the prince, "and if
to be beloved is a source of joy, you must be peculiarly blessed. The affections
of Lady Helen and myself have met, and made your heart the altar on which we
have pledged our fraternal love."

Wallace regarded each with a look of tenderness. "It is my
joy to love you both like a brother, but Lady Helen must consider me as even
more than that to her. I am her father's representative, I am the voice of
grateful Scotland, thanking her for the preservation her generous exertions
yielded! And to you, my prince, I am your friend, your subject--all that is
devoted and true."

Thus enjoying the dear communion of hearts, the interchange
of mind, and mingling soul with soul, did these three friends journey toward the
gates of Paris. Every hour seemed an age of blessedness to Helen, so gratefully
did she enjoy each passing moment of a happiness that seemed to speak of
Paradise. Nature never before appeared so beautiful in her eyes, the sky was
more serene, the birds sung with sweeter notes, the landscape shone in brighter
charms; the fragrances of the flowers bathed her senses in the softest balm; and
the very air as it breathed around her, seemed fraught with life and joy. But
Wallace animated the scene; and while she fancied that she inhaled his breath in
every respiration, she moved as if on enchanted ground. Oh! she could have
lingered there forever! and hardly did she know what it was to draw any but
sighs of bliss till she saw the towers of Paris embattling the horizon. They
reminded her that she was now going to be occasionally divided from him; that
when entered within those walls, it would no longer be decorous for her to pass
days and nights in listening to his voice, in losing all of woman's love in the
beautified affection of an angel.

This passion of the soul (if such it may be called), which
has its rise in virtue and its aim the same, would be most unjustly degraded
were it classed with what the herd generally entitle love. The love which men
stigmatize, deride, and yet encourage, is a fancy, an infatuation, awakened by
personal attraction, by--the lover knows not what, sometimes by gratified
vanity, sometimes by idleness, and often by the most debasing propensities of
human nature. Earthly it is, and unto earth it shall return! But love, true
heaven-born love, that pure affection which unites congenial spirits here, and
with which the Creator will hereafter connect in one blessed fraternity the
whole kindred of mankind, has but one cause--the universal unchangeableness and
immortality, a something so excellent that the simple wish to partake its
essence in the union of affection, to facilitate and to share its attainment of
true and lasting happiness, invigorates our virtue and inspires our souls. These
are the aims and joys of real love. It has nothing selfish; in every desire it
soars above this earth; and anticipates, as the ultimatum of its joy, the moment
when it shall meet its partner before the throne of God. Such was the sentiment
of Helen toward Wallace. So unlike what she had seen in others of the universal
passion, she would hardly have acknowledged to herself that what she felt was
love, had not the anticipation of even an hour's separation from him, whispered
the secret to her heart.